


let the ashes fall, forget about me

by demoncat22



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Not Canon Complaint - The Punisher (TV), Post Defenders Season 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 06:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demoncat22/pseuds/demoncat22
Summary: 'Course Red wanted to stay.orFrank finds out about Matt's death.





	let the ashes fall, forget about me

Red won’t be too pleased to see him, Frank muses, scuffing the soles of his boots onto the pavement.

It might be true that Frank ain't got nothing to brag about when it comes to knowing anything about Hell's Kitchen's shining superhero. They met once or twice, Frank shot at him multiple times, Red did a half-assed job of defending him, like he does everything, and they parted ways. He figures he'll announce his presence before he gets a billy club to the head, get all the rants and lectures out before he decides to go after his own mutts.

The shaky truce between them will hold - probably - even if he arrives at Murdock’s doorstop with dried blood crusting at the ends of his jacket. The bastard has a nose like a bloodhound, but there is no amount of scrubbing that’ll cleanse that stink off Frank anyway.

There will be the scowl. _What are you doing here, Frank?_ Murdock will ask, his arms in front of his chest.

Look at 'im, a few months without the kid's made him sentimental.

The lock is a cheap one, which is why it’s rusty, stubborn. The amount of noise he makes, when jiggling it, will probably have woken a regular New Yorker, but he’s sure Red’s heard him the moment he step foot on the roof. He hasn’t been stopped yet – an invitation if he’s ever seen one. He's pretty sure there's a key somewhere, unless Murdock makes a habit of keeping his doors open while he's parkouring off every skyscraper in the city. But Frank's no key-finder, and breaking in gives him a special kind of joy.

The door clicks, finally.

It should be no source of pride, but a small smirk curves the line of his lips anyhow. He shoves his way through the creaking door, his rifle warm on his back. Red will hate that too.

“You’re lucky," he drawls, soft under his breath, "I didn’t break the damn thing-”

Dawn filters through the glass windows, casting the cement walls in a disarray of blue and pale purple. Blonde hair caught in the light of sunrise; there’s a gun pointed his way.

From below, Karen Page stares at him, her eyes are strained, wide, her shoulders rising and falling in quick, harsh breaths. Red’s partner behind her, looking an unearthly pale colour, even bathed in purple, a mobile phone in his hand.

“ _Frank?”_ Karen’s whisper sounds like a scream.

A pained voice, echoing through this thick skull of his, sounding a lot like Red, tells him plainly that maybe this is _not_  the best time. That maybe he shouldn’t have barged into the home of the Murdock pair of Nelson and Murdock, at ass a.m in the morning. That maybe he should’ve waited until he spotted Red in some dark alley, fighting off whatever petty criminal he had found, before introducing himself all over again.

He knows deep in his heart that Red will have a hell of a time explaining this, and it would have been funny as all hell if  _Frank_ didn't have to join him.

There is movement.

Karen takes an abrupt, unsteady step closer, the gun in her hand lowering.

Nelson’s arm shoots out to curl a hand around her elbow, but his eyes don't leave Frank. “What the fuck are you doing here?” the man spits, his voice a tenor that Frank knows would be pleasant to listen to under... less extenuating circumstances. He has a white-knuckled grip on his phone. He is a jarring sight; his hair is trimmed and slicked back, his suit looks expensive. He looks like a proper lawyer, asshole and all.

He also looks ready to lurch up the stairs to throw a punch, which is understandable, but Frank won’t be the reason Red’s best friend and confidant breaks an arm. “How do you even _know where he li-”_

“Easy,” he interrupts, feet shifting backwards. The door is still ajar. He struggles to find some sort of- believable lie, and what comes out of his fool mouth is, “Just on the wrong roof, ‘is all.”

He's no lawyer; _w_ _here the fuck is Red?_

The one time Frank actually _wants_ his presence, he’s nowhere to be found.

Typical.

“Frank,” Karen starts, her voice soft, trembling. She hasn’t stopped trying to look straight into his eyes, no matter that he looks away. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” he says firmly, “Got confused.”

“Are you-” her mouth clicks shut, her eyes fluttering like she’s trying not to- _god, if he makes her cry Murdock will be on his ass-_ Her lips move, but he can’t hear her from there. He’s not much good with lip reading either.

Nelson’s head snaps towards her, his expression stricken. He looks back at Frank, face slack.

“Well, are you?” the man asks gruffly, nothing left of his aggression in his stance. His fingers clench into fists at his sides, but he stares up at Frank with something fragile in the lines around his eyes.

The sound of traffic coming from the door behind him falls away.

Someone- _something_ grabs onto his shoulders tightly, a vice-like grip that is impossible in itself. There's a split second where every muscle of his body locks up, with only that one moment to reach for the knife on his belt, before gravity pulls him sideways. He hits the ground hard and rough, the handle of his rifle shoved into his hip violently. His head pounds in tandem with the beat of his heart, the ringing in his ears shrill.

Screaming.

_“-out him!”_

_“-know, whoops.”_

The gun is in his hand. Blinking away the vertigo, he raises it to the blur of dark hair on the balcony. It’s not Murdock, and if he’s honest, even if it had been, he’d still have-

“Frank!” Karen’s voice is _this close_ to his ear, rushed and worried, bringing a wash of other voices with it. It must be her hands on his shoulder this time. She’s let go of her gun. “Frank,” she hisses, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

There are bags under her eyes.

“’m fine.” He bites out shortly, pulling himself to his feet, eyes catching on the sharp, critical gaze of the young woman who had _thrown_ him off a fucking balcony. This is _the last time_ he’ll be coming over to Red’s place, period. “Who’s the dame?”

“I should be asking you that, pal.” The woman returns, deadpan, “It’s not my fault you were breaking into Murdock’s apartment with that thing.” she nods at the rifle slung over his shoulder, her arms coming up across her chest.

Karen’s eyes dart to Nelson; his shoulders roll in what could barely be called a shrug, gaze skittering across the lounge. He looks… less like a polished lawyer up close. There’s something disquieting in his eyes.

Both of them look back at him at the same time.

“Are you... are you looking for Matt?” Karen croaks tremulously, her fingers twisting together.

The woman doesn’t look away from the bedroom.

“Why would I be looking for Murdock?” he brushes off, feeling as if he’s lost control of the entire situation. “After the shit job he did as my lawyer, you’d think I’d never want to see him again-”

“Because he’s Daredevil.” Nelson asserts, his tone of voice clipped.

Karen’s attention is fully on her wringing hands.

Frank pauses.

“And you’re the Punisher.” Nelson continues, and this time, when he looks at Frank, the gleam in his eyes is angry, accusing. He looks at Frank like he _knows_ just the kind of guy Frank is. His shoulders are tight, standing with his back rigid. “And because that’s what Matt _did_ , he ran around with murderers and thugs and _serial_ _killers_ _even_ _when_ _we told him_ -”

The woman’s lips curl downwards.

“Foggy.” Karen murmurs, thin and quiet and far away; Frank notes blankly that there are tears in her voice. Her back is turned to him, so he can't make out the creases of her temple or the furrow of her brow, but he knows it's there.

Frank had seen Red’s apartment exactly once; it hadn’t been from the inside.

Murdock had never brought him back to his place, and he hadn’t ever cared enough to break in. It’s bigger than he thought it would be, emptier too, a large expanse of living room without boundaries, without photographs on the walls, or the shelves. Well, he catches himself, why would a blind man need photographs?

A blind man needs to eat, though. The kitchen counter is devoid of bottles, jars. There are no plates left out to dry.

Funny that. Only half empty boxes sitting haphazardly under the archway. Yellow folders stuffed quickly and carelessly, crammed in with tome after tome of books. No one seems to be wearing holes into Red's shitty carpet about the mess Frank's made- the mess the superhuman woman's made, no one seems to be running for the phones.

He shifts the straps of his rifle, “Where is he?”

Karen’s shoulders are shaking, small, short noises muffled by the palm of her hand. Nelson stares at Frank, like he’s the stupidest piece of shit there is, like there is any other explanation other than- Now Frank will be the first to admit that he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, that Red’s the smart one, that he misses things sometimes, but he isn’t a fucking idiot.

“No, really,” he feels himself smile, the prickling at his neck spreading down to his spine, to the tips of his fingers. Barely half a year.

He’s been gone.

For fucks sake it hasn't been that long, Red couldn't have gotten into that much trouble, could he? “Where _is_ he?” he pushes, impatience turning his words cold, “He land himself in a hospital or somethin'?”

“ _WHERE DO YOU THINK HE IS?”_ Nelson explodes, his words ripped out of him with all the fury of a grieving widow. His eyes are round and red rimmed and Frank-

Has no time for _that_.

“There was an explosion.” The woman interrupts, before Frank grabs Nelson by the collar of his fancy new suit and _shakes_ him. Exasperated, she turns on the heels of her boots to look at him, dark eyes impassive. Her fingers twitch towards the inner pocket of her jacket. “He stayed behind to,” her hands does a complicated gesture, “Fight or- whatever, he wanted to stay.”

Of course.

A laugh builds in his throat, it tastes like bile on his tongue.

He has no right to be feeling anything like this- this- punched out feeling in his gut, his lungs burned cold.

The kid is cocky, nosy, is so idealistic it makes him sick to his stomach. The things Frank knows about him, he can count off one hand. They aren't friends. They can't even be called colleagues, and clearly, the kid's  _actual_ friends are gathered here now, watching Frank freak the fuck out over someone he doesn't even know.

He presses his eyes shut.

The fight on the roof, that last one before he left. The woman choking on her own blood, Frank had seen a black oozing mass leak out of her stuttering body, knew it had been too much loss to save. Red’s wretched scream as he cradled her, bent over a corpse he must've loved. He hadn’t ever seemed right after that.

_‘Course Red wanted to-_

Reckless and furious and anguished.

_Only a matter of time._

"Frank," Karen wants to say something, he can tell. He wonders if that's all she knows to say. There are a million questions behind her liquid eyes, she probably wants to ask about what he thought he would find here, or why the hell Red would want him anywhere near his place, or maybe even where he's going now, since there doesn't seem to be anyone here at all. There hadn't been a single goddamn reason to come back, so,  _why had he?_  

He doesn't have answers.

He's always tried to be nice to Karen, good to her like she'd been to him, but now he jerks away from her reaching hands. He doesn't want to be touched. Distantly, he makes short, nonsense excuses, _gotta go, gotta job somewhere along the west coast, good to see you again, Karen._

They must have let him leave, because he blinks to the bustling streets of Hells Kitchen. 

Another day, another soldier, another body at the door _\- 'course Red wanted to stay._

**Author's Note:**

> Work revised on 23 November 2017.


End file.
